The Master and the Professor
by full-of-wrackspurts
Summary: A Goodbye between old friends. Warning: character death.


A/N I do not own Harry Potter. Never have and unless I become a millionaire I never will and even then it's unlikely.

_I wrote this in honour of my Granny who died a few years ago from cancer. _

The Master and the Professor

It was cancer that took her in the end. It wasn't fighting and surviving through two wars. It wasn't the stress of her job as headmistress. It wasn't even old age. It was a horrible, sneaky muggle illnesss that ever so subtly destroyed her body.

She only found out it was cancer after it had progressed to the final stages. She had ignored the aches and pains putting it down to something silly like something she ate or old bones or stress but Minerva McGonagall couldn't die in the way she deserved to go. She deserved to go to the next journey without pain, dying purely from living too long.

She found out too late to tell anyone. Whenever she thought she could bring there was always something that stopped her. After all her friends had suffered through they were finally happy and she couldn't spoil that, let it happen in one burst rather than a prolonged wait.

People were concerned and asked about her health constantly but she wasn't one to let her problems cloud over other successes and glamours became as much a part of the routine as the bun. Instead she'd discretely put measures in place so those she considered her family would get the appropriate farewell after her death.

Or that was the plan but defying expectations was still Harry Potter's speciality. It wasn't done in a way that would catch attention as it may have been during his Hogwarts years. Instead it spoke of an experience of death in all its humility and its comfort. Ordinarily this knowledge would not fit with the persona of the Man Who Lived but it was undeniably there, hidden under the layers of charm and modesty that made up Harry Potter. It wasn't spoken of directly, it was acknowledged in the catching of the eye, in the extra pat to her shoulder after a stumble or a wince she just couldn't hide.

He understood her need for silence and for that she was grateful. It felt wrong to ask any questions. It was not her time to be aware of the answers. Despite the uncertainties the reassurance that someone knew and understood her reasoning allowed Minerva to embrace the last days of her life without guilt. Harry would be there to help and to comfort those left behind.

For the last few days Harry had been closer than ever, never obtrusive but around in the background. Minerva recognised the signs. Since the final battle Harry had taken to leaving by himself for a few days for business trips. Each time he returned an obituary for a notable wizard would appear in the prophet or in the Quibbler. Now that Harry had become her shadow she knew her time had come.

On her final night Harry joined her in her sitting room for one last drink of whiskey and one last biscuit.

"It seems we are both adept at misdirection. When did you know, Mr Potter?"

Despite not being his teacher for many years she couldn't stop the slightly disapproving tone from entering her voice.

"Not until it was too late to stop. I'm sorry."

"Ah never mind. It was a dying woman's curiosity. I do appreciate your discretion Harry."

"You chose not to cause any unnecessary pain and I respect that, I'd do the same. Besides my position is helping the dying reach acceptance, not to ease the pain for the living."

A contemplative silence fell not one of dread, but of faith in death and all its power.

"So Mr Potter these are the new adventures you have been undertaking. I presume no-one else knows."

"They suspect but I've never confirmed it."

"So answer me this the last request of a dying woman."

Harry looked at his old professor, this battle axe who fought in and survived two wars then continued to put up with generations of Hogwarts students including his own children. He looked at her, the old woman sick from a cursed illness no longer existed, only a woman who was brave enough to take the next journey without reservations, and prepared to answer her question whatever it may be,

"Is Master of Death a better or worse title than the Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry laughed at the question and answered with a quip of his own.

"Honestly I think my favourite title is Pothead but don't tell Malfoy I said that."

"Never." Mcgonagall whispered.

As Mcgonagall's strength began to wane Harry entered into his role. As the shadows deepened and the air cooled the master of death clicked his fingers and the tools of his trade appeared, a wand of tantalising strength, a cool dark stone ring and the final and his first the cloak.

"Thank you Harry for coming personally. It can't be the norm for the Master of Death to say goodbye."

"It is for the special ones. Now Minerva just relax." As Harry spoke his final words to Minerva Mcgonagall an ancient magic entered the room and Minerva. A ball of light flitted from her body to the waiting hands of the Master of Death and with a click of his fingers the soul passed through to a dimension which the master could see but never experience.

As the light faded Harry returned, shucking of the cloak, sheathing the wand and wishing the stone back to his vault at Gringotts, discarding the master of death persona until he was next called.

As he walked out the room ready to return to his family he softly said "Have a nice adventure Professor."


End file.
